Sunday's Child
by Emoosey
Summary: Ouran was her reality. And that isn't a problem, she told herself, because, after all, high school is only a blip.
1. Victim of the System

_Sunday's child does not stand for anything dull or ordinary._

* * *

Akosua Owusu - also known as Lisa due to her mother's shoddy pronunciation of Ghanaian names - was a studious girl. She felt she had to be really. It would be unfair to her parents to become some kind of layabout bum, as dearly as she often wished to become one. The fantasy tended to include the idea of hoping onto the back of a train like a vagrant and letting it take her all the way to Ghana. Of course, this was stupid, reasons being that most trains nowadays were high speed (most likely resulting immediate death if she attempted to jump one) and that no train - ever - took someone all the way from Japan, across seas and continents, to Africa. So this particular daydream was boxed up into the portion of her mind where most outlandish thoughts were sent. She was quite dismayed, in her first year of high school, to see that box beginning to overflow. She would have to send in a waste control team.

Once the waste control team had come through, an effective self-induced memory removal service, she was able to make the room she needed for all the educational, sometimes nonsensical, facts, figures and theories school was sure to teach her. So in her bizarre yellow dress, she sat and became educated. Being educated gets you the big shot jobs, they would all say, especially when you receive your education from a prestigious academy. But then her father had never needed any grades or degrees. He had become a big shot. The argument to that would most likely be: look where he is now.

He couldn't help the fact the economy was a bitch. He was just a victim of the system, as Akosua would probably be one day. Although they all seemed to like looking upon her life with unlimited optimism while she was still in her youth.

So thus went by her first year at the pretentious school Ouran Academy, a rather uneventful year, in which she idly (almost without realising it) went around masquerading as one of the rich kids. It might have been more fun to impersonate a delightful homeless bum. Needless to say, she wasn't in attendance at Ouran for enjoyment, but _yes_ , it certainly would have been fun. Instead, when feeling overwhelmingly bored and simply couldn't find it within herself to swot up on knowledge in school time, she would indulge her vagabond fantasy in the form of an imaginary tramp squatting in her head. Gorou the failure was his name. Once a successful business man, he became a poor hobo who had quite the unhealthy drinking habit and remained in a constantly drunken state. She chose to ignore the parallels that could be drawn from him to her own life. Despite him often being fairly delirious, Akosua enjoyed her conversations with Gorou. He made for some interesting company and added some amusing commentary to her everyday life. He lived in one of the cardboard boxes that had been emptied by the waste control team. At some point in the year, Gorou had nearly been booted out by them, but Akosua had cut in and kindly allowed him to stay.

In that first year, her life had been a monotonous cycle of study, chores and the redundant passing of time. She would, on a much too regular occurrence, simply lie in bed and think about all the desserts she could no longer eat. Gorou would normally laugh at her at this point and wave a near-empty bottle of alcohol around, claiming that if she became a drunk like him she wouldn't have any cake-craving problems. She then reminded Gorou that he was destitute middle-aged man hiding out in a teenager's head and this knowledge both shut Gorou up and made her new lifestyle seem slightly less tedious. Slightly.

Akosua's second year of schooling at Ouran soon rolled around and she left her substandard middle-class home after receiving a harried hug from her mother who was off to work and a sloppy rum-smelling kiss on the cheek from her uncle, and felt endeared (as she felt whenever she saw her new house from a distance) to know that she was one step closer to becoming a better version of Gorou. She took public transport to school, which was probably one of the most exciting parts of the day as people would ogle her (most likely because of her peculiar appearance of being a rather foreign-looking girl in a fancy vibrant dress sitting on a dirty back-seat of a bus) and she and Gorou would make witty observations about passersby.

 _His moustache looks like a caterpillar_ , Akosua remarked, watching a man who had been gawking at her for the last few minutes, _it might just crawl off his face._

 _He looks like the kind of man who would try to molest you,_ Gorou said.

 _Oh, gross,_ Akosua wrinkled her nose in distaste, _I do hope not. Though I only think you say that because you have personal experience with the type of man who would molest someone._

 _Oi,_ Gorou shook an angry fist and nearly toppled out his box home, _I'm going to pretend you didn't just insinuate that._

 _Your go now,_ She told him.

 _Fine, right,_ Gorou grumbled, taking a swig from his beer can, _that woman. There. She's wearing way too much makeup. Looks like a proper whore._

 _Jeez, harsh much. That's going too far, Gorou. Stop taking your inner anxieties out on others._

Gorou the failure had already been rather upset with her after the molester comment so it didn't at all surprise Akosua to watch him retreat back into his box in a sulk. She passed the rest of the journey to the academy in mental silence, with no one to play her regular observation game with. Akosua didn't really mind though. Sometimes Gorou was a bit much.

She arrived at the academy after fairly lengthy walk from the bus stop to the school gates. Such an esteemed facility surely would not want commoners' vehicles stopping outside; it would be a flood gate to the peasants, the people like Gorou. _Hey!_ But past that, the idea of a bus stop was simply inane for those well-heeled. Why go by bus when you can go by chauffeur? Though Akosua had never much liked her old chauffeur; he had made too many poorly timed jokes (poorly executed too), and he had always tried to initiate staring contests with her whenever they were waiting for her father to finish a meeting. He said it was to improve her socialisation skills but really it just made her want to avoid people like him all the more.

And while she no longer had a chauffeur, the walk did not make her appreciate his memory in the slightest. That driver had been a harasser in the disguise of a conversationalist. So the walk became something lovely in her mind. She found it rather invigorating in fact. It did her good to recite the study stating that exercise before learning was beneficial. It increases brain activity. Akosua would simply have to ignore the slowly shrinking fat reserves on her inner thighs and hope that there would not be an apocalypse anytime soon, one that would require her to hold out through the onsets of starvation.

She had gotten to school early, as she did every day. She found that it was an effective method of avoiding the congestion in the entranceway when the other students arrived either on time or 'fashionably' late. She was able to smoothly glide through the halls, up the stairs, and all the way to the most far-flung library in the building (that remained empty in these early hours). The room would be teeming with teenagers at break and lunch, but for the moment it was quiet. Besides the lull in students, the early morning library routine also offered a way for Akosua to squander some time before lessons began, time that would have otherwise been spent at home listlessly watching her uncle open up another bottle of cheaply bought booze. It was not the quality stuff. Her uncle would seemingly settle for anything, much alike another drunkard Akosua knew.

Somewhere at the back of her mind Gorou shifted, mumbling grouchily.

Tucked away in a corner, with a random book picked off a nearby shelf, Akosua read. It was a book on modern warfare. It was a fairly interesting read. All about the new tech savvy, chemically complex, and biologically alarming ways whole races of people could be wiped from the face of the Earth. Akosua supposed if all else failed her she could now become a warlord dictator and engage in whole world domination. She had the knowledge for it certainly, but then again, she had garnered the knowledge for many a subject from her mornings in the library. She could just as easily become a botanist. Besides, the life of a mass murdering tyrant did not beckon to her like the life of a street urchin did. It was a morally challenging job and did not hold the prospects of quite so many ascetic life choices. Akosua considered it simpler to live in a homespun fashion. After all, if you're going to be poor you might as well go the whole hog. To not go the whole hog, as was Akosua's state of wealth at this present time, was simply a lack of conviction. Unfortunately, her mother was ever so desperately trying to keep them afloat and Akosua was not one to bring ruin upon someone's efforts (wherever they may be directed towards). Akosua could do nothing else but remain in her position of apathy.

The school bell rang and Akosua put away her book on the darker side of humanity, scuttling away to homeroom before the last chime had even sounded. Class 2-A was where she had been delegated. She was a second year, well versed in the ways of an ordinary Ouran student, in spite of her apparent lack of interest in anything beyond class studies and the occasional indiscriminate book in the morning. Akosua had the time to observe you see, especially in homeroom, and through observance she could then emulate to an extent. To continue her posh pretences she needed to stand poised, dress neat, speak soft, eat delicately, nod graciously and if in doubt merely smile through it all. That was what she had observed. Of course, if anyone had once upon a time seen the size of her family bank account they surely would have concluded that Akosua should know her way around being 'posh'. Yet, it should be noted that posh does not necessarily equate to wealthy. Wealthy the Owusu family had been, but posh - they had not had that sophisticated air about them, not in the slightest.

Then the question was: why did Akosua continue with this imitation game?

She seemed to be doing fairly well in it. Surely if someone were to perform the Turning Test upon her she would be near indistinguishable to her real counterparts - the real adolescent aristocracy of the world. However, doing well was not a reason to continue.

 _Yet really_ , she mused, _I cannot fathom a true reason for it._

Perhaps it was her everlasting quest for belonging, a sentiment she had a thirst for ever since infancy. It was something most people wanted. Though she considered herself to have a smaller sense of belonging than most people and should accordingly have a stronger drive to obtain it.

In the Class of 2-A, where she sat at the back, always observing, she was one of many children of a sundry ancestry. Having a baby of two nationalities seemed to be becoming a fad. No longer were they considered mongrels. They were élites, hybrids, the best of both worlds. And Akosua was one of them. So it was indisputable that she should belong here, among her fellow fusion children. But somehow Akosua 'Lisa' Owusu still remained an odd one out. When she looked around at the school's populace she discovered that if you were not Japanese you were Eurasian, and if you were not Eurasian you were part American (Northern American to be precise). There were no other Japanese-Ghanaian students, not even a part African one here. She was a person of a different crossbreed, one that had clearly not caught on in the initial craze.

It was sometime near the end of the day, after a series of simplistic introductory lessons that elapsed without any mental strain on Akosua's behalf, when Akosua was, for the first time in a long while, snapped from her apathy.

She had just been released from her last class and was beginning to absent-mindedly think ahead to what microwave dinner she would pick out today when she stumbled across it. It was just laying there, in the hall, box half-open but unspoilt. Someone must have been smiling upon her kindly because she had not had such good fortune for some time.

 _A cake, Gorou..._ She reached out to the intoxicated man at the back of her head, possibly searching for confirmation that such a thing could be sitting there for the taking.

 _Yeah. A cake._ He responded, not at all enthusiastically, but he had responded. That was all Akosua had been looking for, because now she could be sure that there was indeed a cake on the ground.

Akosua shuffled her feet forwards uneasily, taking surreptitious glances back and forth. There was no one in the hall, no one would see her break the ruse of upper-class elegance and reach for the cake. No one would even know.

 _You take too much care in something you seem to have no interest for,_ Gorou muttered, _just pick up the damn cake._

Gorou was quickly shushed and Akosua decided to go for it. Slowly, almost as if moving too fast would wake her up from this dream-like moment, she reached down to the neatly boxed cake, looking within its clear top at the caramelized swirls and fluffy white frosting. She was nearly drooling at the thought of being able to consume something so divine. Surely this was proof enough of a higher being. They must have sent it to Akosua in an attempt to convert her to the holy ways. If this was going to become a regular offering then she would be more than happy to start up a cult dedicated to this blessed cake-giving overlord.

"You found my chocolate cake!" At the sudden sound of the voice Akosua nearly jumped out of her skin, but visible reactions was not quite her thing, so instead she turned smoothly to face the one who spoke. It was a girl, a student like her but evidently rich enough for a personal stylist based on the complexity of her hairstyle, and apparently she was the owner of the cake. It was not a gift from a transcendent overlord then.

The girl stood before her, arms outstretched and waiting for her dessert. Akosua felt a little piece of her soul break away.

Without as much as a resigned sigh she gently passed over the cake to the girl, even smiling as she did so (albeit it being more reminiscent of a grimace) because a smile made everything just a bit more gracious. "Thank you so much," The girl seemed to miss her anguish in her elation, which she couldn't really be blamed for. It was a minimal expression, despite how the actual feeling was crushing her insides. "I can't believe how lucky I am. I thought this was gone for good. You are absolutely amazing- er-um... Sorry, I don't know you're name. We're in the same class, aren't we? I'm afraid I never quite caught it though..." The girl trailed off with an awkward laugh.

"It's okay," Akosua told her as melodiously as she could manage - she wasn't quite use to having her grandiose deception tested so directly - and struggled not to fidget under the pressures of a one-on-one situation, "I don't know yours either."

The girl stopped laughing and stared at Akosua, temporarily frozen it seemed.

 _You're not meant to tell a high-born you don't know their name_ ; Gorou was apparently not sulking anymore and was instead at the forefront of her mind, shaking his head in dismay.

 _Why not? She didn't know mine._

 _And why do you think she was so uncomfortable when saying she didn't know yours?_ Gorou asked her, _then you just come straight out with bluntly saying that you don't know hers. That's snooty behaviour even for snooty people!_

Though it did cross her mind that somehow Gorou had a strange understanding of the upper-class (and it didn't cross her mind that his knowledge should in fact be hers as he was only a manifestation of some of her less cognitive brainwaves), she was much more preoccupied with her current downward spiralling conversation.

Luckily for Akosua, the girl she was talking to was making heroic attempts to salvage it. "My name is Felicia Allegra Gentile, daughter of the president of _Giardino Vino_." Felicia remained in a firm smiling stance, looking towards Akosua expectantly, but when there was a lack of response she elaborated. "It's a company that makes wine... It's been ranked the most exquisite _vino_ in all of Europe you know."

Actually, Akosua didn't know, but she wasn't about to tell Felicia that, so she merely nodded her head as if she knew all about it.

' _Most exquisite wine in Europe'..._ Gorou grinned, _you've got to befriend her Lisa. She'll give us free tipple._

Akosua ignored Gorou and tried to keep her attention on Felicia, who appeared to be growing increasingly uncomfortable. Perhaps it was time for Akosua to give her name in return. That had been Felicia's original question after all.

"I'm Akosua Owusu."

"O-Oh... Uh," Felicia stammered, seeming somewhat out of her depth, while Gorou droned, _You're meant to give titles and positions with your name. That's how rich kids and their parents network._ "It's a pleasure to meet you Ako...Akosowar-Ako-"

"But everyone here struggles to say it so they call me Lisa."

Blushing embarrassedly, Felicia nodded quickly as if to brush over her mispronunciation, "Well then, uh, it was wonderful meeting you Lisa. I must thank you again for finding my cake. In fact, where did you find it? I've been searching all over."

"There," Akosua said, pointing to the patch of glossy floor where she had found it.

All of a sudden, nearly making Akosua dive for the nearest cover, Felicia squeaked loudly, dropping the box like it was hot coal. Upon impact the box burst open and, much to Akosua's despair, the cake became splattered all over the floor. Akosua stared at the sweet mess on the ground unbelievingly. Felicia was still flailing about.

"Eww, ew, ew! Oh, why did it have to touch the ground? Now I don't have a present for Honey," She lamented, furiously wiping her hands on a pocket handkerchief. "And he loves it when I bring him cake. I bet the others will have brought cake. Maybe I can request a delivery... But the host club starts so soon! What to do, what to do..."

 _More cake?_ Akosua's attention finally snapped away from the mushy remains of the once beautiful treat and began to watch Felicia keenly. She didn't feel quite so dejected anymore. She actually felt rather perky.

Felicia threw her arms up with a frustrated groan. It was hardly ladylike, but somehow this respectable young woman had been driven beyond a refined conduct. It was all very peculiar, but if it was for cake Akosua could understand it. "I'll just have to go without it today." She said in reassignment and Akosua wondered if it was stranger for Felicia to talk aloud like this or for herself to chat with a tipsy man inside her head.

The girl began to rush off but quickly she turned, clearly only just remembering the manners she had been raised with. Cake could do some powerful things to people. Akosua had never seen it from an outside perspective before. "Our talk was, uh, interesting. Take care, Lisa!

While watching Felicia disappeared off down the hallway Akosua mused to herself with a pensive look upon her face. _A host club, eh? And more ladies with cake..._

 _Oh no you don't,_ Gorou intervened, _I said manipulate girls for alcohol, not go on a search for cake._

 _Cake is my alcohol,_ Akosua said sharply before rushing after Felicia.

* * *

 _A/N: This was written a rather long time ago and I found it in my documents recently so I thought "Why not post it on fanfiction now?". So here I am. I have lots of notes on this story too so I can continue it and know what I'm writing. Always a good thing. Though this won't be my top priority at the moment. And no matter to Honey's cute little black magic love interest in the manga. This is Akosua interception._


	2. A Daring Cake Escapade

_Sunday's child can have difficulty dealing with certain situations._

* * *

And so, Akosua 'Lisa' Owusu ended up telling Felicia Allegra Gentile that she was the daughter of a celebrated pastry chef and as a result was dragged along to her dodgy after school Host Club in order to receive a list of preferences from the intended client. Of course, this meant that Felicia thought Akosua had access to a professional baker, or maybe she thought she knew a team of stupendously good cooks waiting to follow any command, or perhaps she even thought that Akosua herself would take on the task. The very notion of it was ludicrous. The only part of her faux yarn with any slither of truth behind it would have been that her father was a celebrated pastry chef and even that wasn't strictly true.

The Host Club turned out to have planted their metaphorical flag in the school's third music room and had seemingly been present at Ouran for just as long as Akosua had. A random bystander may have found the fact that Akosua had never at least accidentally stumbled across the Host Club in the whole year she had spent at Ouran odd, but rather it would be much odder for Akosua to have found it than to have not. Akosua functioned on minimum effort and on what was required. She required an education in her classes, she required to save face around other students, and she required to pass time productively before homeroom began. Anything else was simply an arbitrary distraction from her attempt to slog through the day without the necessity of any more investment.

However, Akosua's lack of curiosity for the Host Club didn't mean she was completely oblivious to it, far from it really. It was all the girls in this school talked about. In all her observing, Akosua garnered a fair bit of information about the club. Apparently she was even in the same class as two of the members and judging by the way the main part of the female populace gathered around an animated blonde and a suave bespectacled sort she supposed it was them. They were two of the six household names Akosua often heard brought up by Host Club enthusiasts and she wasn't going to make the effort to match the names to the faces. Yet now, after one long year of indifference, she had actively gone seeking the Host Club on the first day of her second year at high school, helpfully being led to the bishie-boy fort by the avid Host Club goer Felicia Gentile.

The moment her guide opened up the doors to the third music room (unaware of Akosua's egocentric motives for offering her groundless pastry making services) a wave of floral perfume engulfed Akosua. The fragrance was somewhat on the strong side, not so overpowering that Akosua would lose her well maintained poise to gag but enough to cause her nose to wrinkle. Felicia bounded into the room – clearly she was a fan of the potent rose scent or maybe she just had no sense of smell – and she was immediately greeted by the bespectacled boy from Akosua's class. It was almost as if he had blinked into existence (in such a way that left Akosua to dwell on the possibilities of teleportation while Felicia conversed).

"You are here for Honey I assume, Miss Gentile," said Bespectacled Boy. "Or maybe the twins today?"

"Honey of course," Felicia replied in warm enthusiasm, "I only visit the twins when you put on a theme. Their acting becomes so much more fascinating when given a fictional context, and I must admit they look extremely good in cosplay, but you would know that, wouldn't you Kyoya? You keep a track on statistics like that."

Bespectacled Kyoya's eyes glinted in a noticeably sly and slightly ominous manner as he used his free hand (the one not holding the clipboard) to push up his glasses. Akosua considered that maybe his glasses were the key to his shadow teleportation. "Honey is taking his nap right now so I'm afraid you will have to wait a while. I hope that is alright with you, Miss Gentile." Bespectacled Kyoya said, smoothly sidestepping Felicia's surprisingly (surprising to Akosua at least) perceptive remark.

Felicia didn't seem to mind Kyoya's evasion and smiled, almost dotingly, as if his silver-tongued hedging was a quintessential part of the Host Club that was to be looked upon fondly. "Who would I be to disturb Honey from a nap? I will wait. Oh, ah — I mean _we_ shall wait!" Felicia gestured to Akosua, motioning her forwards excitedly. "This is Akowa, er, Akosara—"

"Akosua Owusu, although commonly known as 'Lisa' as many struggle with the pronunciation with of the name, a fellow member of class 2-A." When Kyoya's eyes looked up from the clipboard to meet hers, Akosua offered him a textbook smile and raised a dainty hand to politely wave but on the inside she was in a complete panic. No man, woman or child should hold such extensive knowledge of a stranger (unless they were a government spy which Akosua was pretty sure Kyoya was not).

"Yes, that's her," Felicia said, "She is here on a big favour to me. My gift for Honey was ruined you see, but Lisa is the daughter of a celebrated pastry chef. She has promised me the most fantastic cake Honey can think of."

"Hm, a celebrated pastry chef you say?" Akosua didn't like the way Kyoya had repeated that and she did not like the keen look to his eyes. "I am glad to finally see you here, Miss Owusu. I hope you choose to become a reoccurring customer."

She could only nod dumbly, still smiling, because she was most definitely in doubt. Maybe this Host Club excursion wasn't worth it, but the possibility of finely made cake was still on her mind.

For the first time in a while Gorou spoke up. _You've dug yourself a hole, now you're stepping into that hole, and pretty soon you're going to start choking on the dirt in that hole. Believe me kid, I've been in my fair share of holes. Dirt doesn't taste good._

Akosua ignored this, choosing to 'step into the hole', and followed Felicia forth to the left side of the room in which she then made her way over to a table, already with a couple of girls seated around it on two plush settees. At once they greeted Felicia as an old friend and Akosua hung back, feeling a little more than out of place.

Felicia took notice of Akosua's hesitation and quickly ushered her forwards, her meticulously manicured hand pressing against the small of Akosua's back. Now standing directly in front of these two new faces, both delicate milky skinned Japanese girls, Akosua did not know what to say. It was hard enough to pull off the rich and graceful front for just Felicia, it had been a true trial in front of Bespectacled Kyoya, but this was like being stranded in a desert with an empty bottle of water. It had been some time since she had interacted with so many new people all at once and she was finding that she really couldn't handle such social situations anymore.

She was glad when Felicia took charge again. "This is Akosuma, Akolowa, Aka—"

"Lisa," Akosua said lamely.

"Yes, yes Lisa! Lisa here is the daughter of a celebrated pastry chef. She's here to take a custom cake order for Honey on my behalf."

"Oh," One of the girls gasped with a seemingly delighted expression, the one with the heart shaped face. Akosua could only assume her thrill came from the mention of cake. It was the driving force of the universe after all (Akosua's universe that is). "How wonderful! Honey will be so pleased."

"He will love it. Sweet things are Honey's absolute favourite." The other girl, the one with the rose bud lips, said. She gently patted the sofa beside her. Akosua, after a dithering moment of uncertainty, correctly took the gesture as an invitation for her to sit. "You know Lisa, I've seen you around school quite a lot. It's a shame we've never had a proper introduction before now."

That was strange. Akosua made it her job not to be around and about the school. She didn't dilly-dally in the halls, she only went to the libraries when they were near empty and she ate her lunch in the silent alcoves of the school gardens. She supposed she was rather noticeable (as the odd purple grape in a bunch of green ones), even if she stuck to solitude. But Akosua wasn't going to mention any of that; instead she thought to the hobo in her head, _do I need to know their names?_

 _You should probably ask for their names_ , Gorou replied from somewhere in the recesses of her mind.

"Who are you?" She asked.

 _Too direct_ , sighed Gorou.

Their reaction to a simple matter of unknown identity was oddly similar Felicia's. Akosua couldn't fathom how the matter could fluster them so, even with Gorou chanting etiquette in her head. He was a drunk. What did he know?

"Oh... Um, well, I'm Oshiro Natsumi. My family is involved in networking and stock management for some of the world's top banks," said Heart Face (Gorou commenting: _meaning a family of schmoozers and gamblers_ ) and she then indicated Rose Bud, "and this is Kobayashi Kerria, niece to a distinguished fashion designer." (And again Gorou decided to comment: _yawn. Felicia's family business is better_ )

"My Aunt took me under her wing when I was very young." chimed in Rose Bud Kerria, "She said with my skill I'm on set course to becoming the heir to her brand."

"That's..." Akosua wasn't quite sure what to say as she watched the two girls wait expectantly for her response, so it ended up sounding much more like a question, "Lovely?"

Fortunately for Akosua and her poor social graces their conversation was interrupted by the presence of two new people and she slunk back into the sofa between Rose Bud and Felicia, feeling more out of place by the second — especially when her three new acquaintances began to squeal. They walked in, well, one of them walked in, the lofty guy, with a small boy slung over his shoulder (Akosua dubbed him Baby Face).

"Hello, Honey. Hey, Mori." exclaimed Heart Face Natsumi, leaning eagerly over the edge of her seat to best see the newcomers. Akosua could only wonder which one was which. Stereotyping would dictate that Baby Face was Honey — the intended cake client — but there was always that saying Gorou liked to repeat: _don't judge booze by its brand_.

"We've been waiting here for you guys," Felicia said, with what she clearly intended to be a coy smile. The demure look did not last long though for in moments she dissolved into a fit of delighted giggles, accidentally elbowing Akosua in the process. She whispered a quick apology before turning her attention back on the two hosts and let out an exuberant "Hi!"

Lofty Guy set down Baby Face by the armpits and, once on solid ground, he began rubbing the sleep from his eyes, his rabbit toy swaying limply as he did so. Baby Face turned out to be a less apt name than Akosua had first imagined it, him being more 'Baby' in demeanour than 'Baby' in face. The boy, who really must have been somewhat past the stage of boyhood (although 'boy' is how most people would initially regard him), began speaking in an almost indecipherable juvenile speech pattern – bereft with the "wov u" and "thingies" that go with it. But, then again, Akosua didn't pay Baby Face much mind beyond the fact his voice was terribly puerile and that she may or may not be presented, at some point in the afternoon, with an awkward situation in which she would promise him a spectacle of a cake (that or the promise would be to Lofty Guy). At that current moment, however, most of Akosua's thoughts were devoted to the lack of fine pastries and sponges at their table (the table of a supposed sweet lover) and the other host tables that were laden with all sorts of treats.

 _Would it be rude to get up and leave for another table?_

 _Uh-huh,_ Gorou nodded sagely, though still absolutely smashed, _the rudest._

Akosua was drawn back to the conversation by a delighted chorus of girlish cries. Whatever Baby Face had done it had apparently been something of noteworthy cuteness. Before Akosua could reacquaint herself with the situation Rose Bud was nudging her, whispering, "You're in Honey's seat."

Looking down from her perch, Akosua came face to face with Baby Face, his wide blue eyes staring up at her with an intense kind of curiosity. It was the kind of look she had been given a fair few times in the past, but the expression's repetitive nature in her presence did nothing to quell the discomfort it caused her. "Hi," he greeted her with a saccharine smile, hands tucked neatly behind his back as he swung back and forth on the balls of his feet. "I've never seen you here before, pretty miss. It's nice to meet you. I'm Honey. What's your name?"

Akosua blinked down at him, expression unmoved, already having worked out his identity due to Rose Bud's unsubtle prompting to budge (which Akosua planned to ignore on account of proclaimed deafness in only her left ear). While confused by the lack of stately behaviour on Honey's part (a trait so common at their school), she strained to keep up her well-heeled posture and received him with an elegant nod. "Akosua Owusu, but many prefer to call me Lisa."

Baby Face Honey puckered his face contemplatively before asking, "Well, what name do you prefer?"

Akosua nearly frowned, thinking perplexedly about why a choice of name should matter. Names were designated titles used in association to memory. Akosua was a firm believer in whatever sticks is what you should select. Thus was the creation of Bespectacled Kyoya, Heart Face Natsumi, Rose Bud Kerria, Baby Face Honey and Loft Guy Mori (while Felicia remained the only name she could remember quickly without a modifier). "Lisa." she answered Honey, more for the ease of social interaction rather than the presence of a personal favourite in name.

Strangely, he didn't quite look like he believed her and Akosua was suddenly very conscious that she may have let her genteel persona slip. "My darling mother calls me Lisa," Akosua said a little too rapidly (doing her best to imitate such parlances as Rose Bud's), covering up for a moment of (possibly nonexistent) lapse in character. "I find it rather endearing."

Baby Face let out a twee hum, as he seemingly pondered over her, and then sprang into buoyancy, announcing, "I'll call you Lisa then – as long as you'll find me endearing."

It would have seemed like flirting coming from anybody else but it was said in such an innocuous manner, the words so well folded into a neat little guileless box, pulled from such a philandering place and made to be so irreproachable, that it became anything but flirting. And it was so bizarre, because although Akosua often drifted into the shadows at school she became quite an outlandish fascination when traversing her local area for groceries and thus attracted attention. Her draw had been, a few times, that of mild desirability – boys in passing trying their luck for an exotic romance – but more often than not people just stared (and then ignored when they caught her eye). She was under no illusions that she was a discrepancy, for it seemed a finer pedigree was required anywhere if you truly wanted to mingle. You were somewhat both seen and unseen as a Japanese-Ghanaian girl. So yes, it was all very bizarre that Baby Face Honey should manage to transcend that in which what he said was mutually flirting and not. Akosua wondered if that was his appeal as a host: to be in a constant state of mystery where women can only wonder 'is it a flirt or is not a flirt?'. Or, as Gorou so aptly supplied, _to flirt, or not to flirt – that is the question._

Akosua was left to fight the oncoming urge to raise an eyebrow and instead let herself be distracted by her fellow Host Club clientele's enamoured expressions while Honey shot off across the room (their conversation was seemingly over for the time being). All three girls were obviously quite taken with Honey, whether it was in a platonic sense or lustful. It was possible they were fond of him the way a magpie was for a silver coin. There are many different ways to be taken.

Rose Bud seemed particularly affected, completely dazed and long past the point of caring that Akosua's rear end (still firmly planted upon the sofa) kept her from her usual proximity to Honey. _They are on the receiving end of what some may call a cuteness overload,_ Gorou said, _I myself have often caused such a reaction. The ladies love it when I curl up for a nap in the gutter._

 _That's passing out, not napping. And I believe what those ladies experience is called pity,_ came Akosua's response.

 _I'll take what I can get._

"Mori, you're so diligent and kind. Honey is so lucky to have a friend like you." Heart Face Natsumi wasn't so much besotted with Honey as she was Lofty Guy Mori it appeared. She probably would have been lying over his lap if social decorum didn't exist.

Felicia, on the other hand, was a Honey fan but that didn't stop her from enjoying the presence of Lofty Guy. "You are a sweetheart Mori."

He merely grunted, almost inaudibly, in response.

"Oh, Mori!" Felicia exclaimed in sudden remembrance and turned on Akosua. It was clear she wanted to introduce her again, so Akosua sat and waited for Felicia to butcher her name. "This is Ako— I mean, this is Lisa. Lisa, Mori. Mori, Lisa."

Akosua nodded in greeting. Mori nodded back.

 _A thrilling conversation by all accounts,_ Gorou droned mordantly.

The clipped exchange ended soon enough. Felicia was pointing across the room in an excited sort of confusion. "Who is that?" Felicia said and the other girls' interest peaked (though Mori maintained his slack expression). "The boy with Honey." _Ah,_ thought Akosua, _it's because he's with Baby Face._

The boy was slight beneath his baggy grey jumper, so much so that it looked as if it could slide off his frame at a single tug. The clothes were not school uniform, but his fresh face (partially hidden under foggy glasses) indicated he could be no member of staff. So really, he could only be an Ouran student. Yet he was a _poor_ Ouran student. Never before had Akosua used the words 'poor' and 'Ouran' in the same sentence – except for in her hobo fantasies.

 _You really make light of my situation you know. It's not easy being homeless._

"A scholarship student I suppose." mused Heart Face. "This commoner must be truly accomplished."

Rose Bud looked disgruntled and Akosua soon realised why. A great sin of fashion had been committed that day. "Surely the school would have given him a uniform. Honestly, look at what he's wearing. I can feel my poor aunt's heart shrivelling now. What would she say to that atrocity?"

"Your aunt is in Milan for fashion week," Heart Face pointed out, not quite so disgruntled by the inadequate apparel, finding humour in the situation instead, "but I suppose we could always phone her to find out."

"That was rhetorical, Natsumi. My aunt doesn't have time for a commoner's lack in judgment. No matter how dire the circumstances may be."

"I think he looks very street chic..." Akosua found herself saying pensively as she evaluated him and almost immediately regretted letting it slip. _Damn those hobo fantasies._

 _Yes, that's it Akosua,_ said Gorou flatly. _Let your inner bumpkin run wild._

"Street chic!" Rose bud was aghast. "No, no, no, no, no! You call this monstrosity street chic? This does not belong on our shelves. My aunt and I very much agreed on that. I do not understand how people can possibly find it fashionable to look like a commoner – with those pre-ripped jeans and grungy jumpers. What is the world coming to?"

Mori had been watching the exchange passively, showing no signs of judgment, but nevertheless, when Rose Bud caught him watching her she flushed embarrassedly. Passion, the fiery violate type, was not so easily provoked from the rich of Ouran. The populace of the school who lacked it found vague amounts of it here, among the men who entertained. But so little was it found within an heiress like Rose Bud Kerria. Akosua supposed that, like her, under Mori's 'strong and silent disposition' was a small degree of surprise too.

Felicia became Rose Bud's saviour, in which she drew attention away from her embarrassment (inadvertently or on purpose Akosua did not know) by crying delightedly, "Look! How sweet. They're dancing."

It wasn't quite sweet. Not at all in fact. The 'commoner' – Akosua named him Baggy after his jumper – was in an unfortunate state. Baby Face Honey had himself latched around the boy's waist, calling out "Haru" in an excited elongated way. Honey had spun poor Baggy Haru around so many times that he was probably seeing stars by now.

When they stopped Baby Face began to chatter away, fast and infantile in his delivery, and Akosua probably wouldn't have caught any of the conversation if it were not for her ears being attuned to the word 'cake'. Honey was offering cake to Baggy, so maybe, just maybe, that meant he would return to the table with some delicious pastries along with his new tea guest. Unfortunately, Baggy declined the cake and Akosua could listen no further after that and instead spent the next minute or so fiercely deliberating how someone could not accept a finely made cake.

She was shocked out of her mental ramblings as a blond projectile came rocketing over the sofa and landed sprawled across the laps of herself, Rose Bud and Felicia. Akosua took the brunt of the force and let out a small "ooff" when Honey landed. Rose Bud and Felicia giggled as Honey rolled across them but Akosua stiffened up like a board. Honey quickly took notice and sat up – still on her lap – and said with a sheepish smile, "Sorry Lisa. I normally sit there so I kinda forgot to watch out for you. I'm not too heavy though, am I?"

No, he wasn't heavy, but that wasn't what Akosua was taking away from the conversation. He was suggesting he remain sat on her, just like that, just after moments of knowing her. Again, there was nothing dubious about it, nothing unsavoury, but at the end of the day she was just here to eat cake (which still hadn't happened). She was not here for the Host Club experience of having a host sit on her lap.

"I have chronic leg pain," Akosua said, much too blunt and standoffish, and went to physically remove him from her lap but thought better of it. She instead gently slid herself out from under Honey. He plopped down onto the luxurious cushioning, while struggling to suppress a pout, and Akosua stood up.

"Sorry Lisa..."

 _Oh look, you've made him cry,_ Gorou sniggered, _you depraved girl._

 _No I haven't,_ Akosua snapped, but for a second she did ruefully note the sheen to his eyes, but that was all it was – a sheen. In all of Akosua's experiences a sheen like that was one put on to inflict guilt so she told Gorou, unsympathetically, _It would be very childish of him to cry anyway._

But she became light and airy outwardly, like the high-class lady it was better to be. "Don't worry. I'll just sit next to Lofty-Mori... Mori." _Crap._

Akosua could feel her image of gentry slowly unravelling. It was under the sharp hot gazes of the real venerable students that she believed her persona to trickle through her fingers like burning sand. In truth, maybe their gazes were not so sharp, not so hot, but the way Akosua's skin had been prickling since meeting Felicia spoke volumes against that. How easy it was to flitter through Ouran when exposed to the nobility at a distance, but drawing up close was like stepping into a lion's den – a very fancy, bizarre lion's den. Everything here felt contrived and the longer she spent around these people the harder she was finding it to emulate that. She was ill-fitting and unable to keep up with a game they had practiced since childhood.

 _Have you ever stopped to think they just see you as shy?_

Although Gorou posed well as a decent anti to most things she thought, today she did not even merit his point with a respond. She was frazzled as she sat down next to Mori, hands desperately calling to wring together in their agitation as he watched her. All she wanted now was to leave. Her escapade for cake had failed miserably so far and there seemed to be no desserts awaiting her on the near horizon. She would have left, but she had promised Felicia she would take a cake order from Baby Face (and she couldn't think of an excuse to leave so early). All she could do was remain seated and lament.

That was until Rose Bud Kerria removed a colourful pastry box from her bag. "I did tell you that it was Honey's seat, Lisa." she said reproachfully, but with an underlying smugness that Akosua may have found somewhat grating if it were not for her staring hungrily at the box.

Distractedly, Akosua said, "So sorry, I have a fluctuating lack of hearing in the left ear. I must have missed that."

Rose Bud drew her lips into a taught dissatisfied line but managed to pull herself together enough to exclaim, "Surprise Honey! I brought you a cake."

It was a Strawberry chiffon cake – fluffy and creamy and dripping in strawberry jam. Akosua could feel the drool pooling inside her mouth.

"Thank you, Kerria!" Honey cried delightedly and immediately pulled out a silver fork (from where Akosua did not know) and began to dig in, a glowing elation appearing on his face. In contrast, Akosua's face fell. He hadn't even bothered to offer it around. She had felt for sure someone like him, a host, a person who had dedicated their being to pleasing girls, would at least offer them a slice. Even a morsel would have suited Akosua. It had been so long since she had eaten anything like it, back when her father had still been around to make them. Now he was off somewhere else, her mother worked devastatingly long shifts, her uncle was drunk practically all the time, their house was falling apart and Akosua struggled to live up to some kind of indeterminable expectations the universe had clearly set for her.

All she had wanted was some cake.

"Ah, Honey, since we're on the topic of cake I have a surprise for you too." said Felicia.

"Really?" He looked up at her through adoring eyes, speaking with a mouthful of cake (which only Honey could ever get away with).

"Yes. Lisa here is the daughter of a celebrated pastry chef. She said she would take a custom cake order from you to give to her father."

"Wow, Lisa. That's so cool." Honey's wide admiring look was fixed on her now and Akosua shifted uncomfortably. She hoped no one noticed. "What kind of cake can I have?"

Almost reflexively she said, "Any. Any at all." and she said this because her father would have been able to make any at all.

She regretted this. She regretted all of this. She had promised something she couldn't give so she could get her cake and now she had to continue weaving this falsity, piling the lies upon lies, relying on the small truth in her tale that did exist. Her father did exist – somewhere.

"But how do I pick?" Honey looked genuinely anxious at the thought and in that moment Akosua understood him well. She knew this feeling. The vastness of the culinary world, the possibilities of tastes and textures, the dazzling look of a cake made just right - it could become overwhelming at times.

He scarfed down the last of his cake before asking, "Would it be too much to ask for you to bring me some example pictures? Like a brochure of some sort."

Akosua swallowed, her throat painfully dry. She realised now how truly pathetic she was as she replied, "Of course. It would be my pleasure."

* * *

 _A/N: It's taken some time but here it is. The next chapter! I was considering adding the 'chan' that Honey uses for everyone but as a born and bred westerner it is much easier for me to go without._

 _Hope you enjoyed the chapter._


	3. Interlude I

_The Tale of Gorou the Failure_

* * *

Gorou is a Japanese name meaning fifth son and, such is his namesake, Gorou the Failure was born the fifth and youngest son to a wealthy enterpriser. His birth was a humdrum affair, entrancing the world far more quick and easy than any of his brothers and sisters before him. His mother had been there, done that, got the T-shirt and, while there had been a small burst of gratitude for the effortlessness of Gorou's birth, the labour lacked the memorability that his siblings had provided. Gorou had been an unplanned pregnancy, born far past the point where his mother believed her eggs to still be lively. Unfortunately for Gorou, this meant his siblings were all far older than him and had little interest in their infant brother. His brothers and sister had their future career paths, his mother had scandals to cover, and his father had his crippling health and a will to write.

They had no time for the fifth son. After all, the fifth son is not an asset. To invest time into a non-asset is pure irrationality.

Gorou was left a lonely child.

* * *

 _A/N: Here's a little interlude, while I try to whittle away some plot bunnies with Akosua's story..._


	4. Spirals and Tunnels and Death-traps

_Sunday's child is very suspicious and does not trust others easily._

* * *

When Akosua got home, she ran straight upstairs, past her unemployed drunkard of an uncle, to her room. She had forgotten to make a trip to her local supermarket to buy her usual microwave dinner in her haste. Her mind was on a one-way street, eyes in tunnel vision, completely absorbed in her spiralling lie. Why had she followed Felicia into the death-trap that was the Host Club? It had entirely snapped Akosua from her apathy, far too violently.

Oh well. She doubted she would have the time to eat tonight anyway.

Akosua's room was the smallest of the household's, not out of necessity but because of Akosua's insistence. Her hobo fantasy persisted, emerging in the concept of cramped cosy spaces. Her room was a hair's breadth away from becoming a cardboard box, with its thin flaking walls and tight quarters. It was homely. That was enough for Akosua. She liked the creaky floorboards, soft with age and memory. She liked the small crescent-shaped window, elevated enough to prevent outside eyes staring in but perfect for her own eyes to peek out. She liked the discoloured pink of the walls, along which were pinned numerous sketches, all by her own hand, of pastries, all kinds, a true geographical showcase of what treats the world had to offer. Anyone would have to admit, even Gorou (grudgingly), that Akosua's drawings were magnificent. But they were a mere shadow of what her father had once created for her.

She burst through the threshold of her room and immediately directed herself towards the bedside drawers. After dumping her satchel on the bed, Akosua began rummaging through the drawers and from within she withdrew a battered video cassette. She spent a few moments fiddling with the tape, rewinding the film within.

Then, almost reverently, she put it in the VHS (one of the few material items she had allowed her mother to indulge her in). Her second-hand TV flickered to life at the press of a button and the familiar logo of a yellow chef hat blazed across the screen. A theme song that she could probably recite in her sleep began to play. It was jaunty, inane and absurdly catchy. Akosua hummed along absentmindedly while withdrawing her sketch pad from under her bed.

" _Bonjour! Je suis Chef Mathieu, l'hôte de 'Miam Miam'._ " The host appeared on screen, announcing the show with his toothpaste-commercial-smile, and Akosua spoke along with him, the French mindlessly rolling off her tongue as she began to draw. " _Aujourd'hui, nous avons un invité spécial avec nous. Bienvenue Monsieur Kofi Owusu, PDG de 'Sunday's Child'! Nous sommes très chanceux aujourd'hui, cher public. Monsieur Owusu est un homme d'affaires du Ghana qui a un passe-temps d'être un cordon bleu secrete._ "

'Monsieur Owusu' popped into view, the behind-the-screen audience clapping politely for his arrival. Akosua looked up from her work briefly to meet her father's eye as he waved happily (and somewhat nervously) to the camera.

The host continued, " _Avec l'aide de Monsieur Owusu, nous allons apprendre comment faire des biscuits Gari traditionnels. Allons-nous commencer, Monsieur Owusu?_ "

And then the job of talking was handed over to her father. He stammered through the French in his ungainly way, his deep timbered Ghanaian accent never dulled by the foreign words, and Akosua uttered the same words, with an accent so much more malleable, a delivery much smoother, words known like the back of her hand, " _Merci, Chef Mathieu. Je suis heureux de faire cuire des biscuits Gari aujourd'hui. Ils sont spéciaux en raison de leur importance dans mon pays. Ils représentent la libération du Ghana de la domination anglaise et de célébrer notre indépendance. Mais à côté de leur symbolisme, il a un goût excellent!_ "

She watched the tape on repeat long into the night, drawing all the while.

The next morning Akosua padded into the school library with shades covering her bloodshot eyes. They weren't designer sunglasses; they weren't even expensive. Practically bargain bucket! How her hobo fantasies had swelled. However, with this she faced the issue of standing out from the crowd and not in a way the population of Ouran would find favourable. But wearing these bog standard shades was the lesser of two evils really, because if anyone saw the bags under her eyes they would surely scream. No, really, they would scream. The rich kids of Ouran just didn't understand bodily function without makeup artists, dieticians and health specialists. What would be normality for most frightened these lost silver spoon suckling sheep. Akosua had seen such a case in her first year. The boy, who had gotten locked in the school building overnight (as a result he had a terrible night's sleep), had been accused of zombism and in consequence was utterly ostracised. Fortunately, for better or for worse, whether he wanted to be there or not, he had found a place in the black magic club. Now there were rumours of the zombie-boy who lurked in the shadows of the north building's basement, along with all the other supposed black magic weirdoes who hungout in that subterranean world.

So shades were good (even if they weren't upmarket). Besides, Akosua felt a mite daring coming into school with such an inexpensive accessory. It wasn't like people really paid attention to her anyway. All she had to do was keep out of other people's way, just like she normally did.

"Lisa!"

 _Oh_ , Akosua thought, _oh dear_.

With unabashed bemusement, all kinds of caution, and a dash of disgruntlement, peering sullenly through the tinted lenses of her shades, Akosua found Felicia Allegra Gentile perched daintily on what was her usual seat in the library. Akosua was bewildered beyond her reckoning. She could do nothing but stare, frozen up, watching as Felicia tapped away on her mobile, tucked away in that somewhat musky forgotten corner of the library Akosua favoured. She thought about speed walking away, only for Felicia to look up from her phone, notice Akosua gawking, and begin waving merrily, beckoning her, locking Akosua into the tractor beam of social obligation. It was all a very regrettable circumstance, one which Akosua would have surely avoided if only she had been provided some forewarning.

But not even the gods could have predicted this.

 _Yes_ , Gorou said with a roll of his eyes, _if we're going to talk philosophy and religion and your existential struggles, then no, they definitely could have predicted this. But, I don't know if that is a credit to any deities listening, because even I could have predicted this._

"Lisa, it's good to see you!" Felicia told Akosua as she reluctantly shuffled over to her classmate. "I was worried I was misinformed about your usual hangout. It is terribly early after all," – she stifled a elegant little yawn – "I'm not sure I've ever been up quite so early. But you know what they say, Lisa, the early bird gets the worm."

Akosua was unsure to whether Felicia was referring to herself as the bird and Akosua as the worm or if she was simply complementing Akosua for her timekeeping. She was also unsure if she should be offended if the former were true and Felicia was currently envisioning her as a tasty little worm to snap up for her own purposes. But that could hardly be true, Akosua realised, Felicia would never dare picture a worm, not if that reaction to her cake touching the ground the other day had been authentic – far too squeamish.

 _Sweet stupid sober child, if you would stop thinking about bird and bug metaphors for just a moment, you may be able to clearly think about what wine-princess just said._

 _Wine-princess?_ Akosua questioned Gorou, feeling quite affronted that Gorou would even dare nickname the only person she had managed to remember without the help of an epithet.

 _Focus!_ And for a moment she had the distinct image of Gorou throwing (and consequently smashing) an empty bottle of gin against the side of her head. Well, it certainly shocked her back into the real world, because she suddenly realised what Felicia had just told her.

Someone knew Akosua sat here every morning. That was worrying. But even more worrying was that now it was apparent that more than one person cared that she sat here every morning. "Misinformed?"

"Oh, well, obviously I wasn't, because you're here."" Felicia laughed, a high, tinkling laugh, that was somewhat dampened by the strain in her voice that indicated that she probably wasn't quite as comfortable with this situation as her quick and confident conversation indicated. And then, she tacked on awkwardly, a peppy little "Yay."

Her eyes flickered back and forth between Akosua and the table, finally stopping to rest firmly on Akosua with a rather expectant look. " _Sooo_ , do you want to sit down Lisa?"

Akosua, who had been standing, blankly staring throughout the proceedings, lurched and rushed forward, conscious of seeming at all gauche or unrefined.

 _Too late for that_ , Gorou supplied ever so 'helpfully'.

She grabbed a book off a nearby shelf, in her hurry snatching one that she had already read. Inwardly, Akosua scowled at the title of the book, a Japanese translation of _Plant Propagation (Royal Horticultural Society's Encyclopaedia of Practical Gardening)_. She supposed it wouldn't kill her to give it a re-read but it was hardly productive. Then again, it wasn't like she would be able to get much reading done anyway with Felicia hovering around.

Akosua settled herself opposite Felicia (who had yet to remove those probing doe eyes from Akosua's business), trying not to think mournfully of the chair currently under Felicia (which she would usually occupy), and staunchly kept her own eyes focused anywhere and everywhere but on Felicia and began to read (or tried to). It didn't help that every slight shuffle of clothing as Felicia fidgeted sounded painfully loud in the quiet library. It also didn't help that Akosua could literally feel Felicia's eager eyes burrowing into the top of her scalp with their intensity. Yet she continued with her reading diligently and did her best to keep her movements refined, every turn of the page an art, every facial expression monitored to appear illuminated, so deeply and clearly informed by this book.

There was a cough, a little delicate cough that didn't quite seem real, _and that's because it isn't_ , yet Gorou didn't go on to explain because he was interrupted as Felicia finally broke the silence between them, "Is that a book on botany?" she asked, indicating towards the diagram of a newly seeded plant on page seven.

Akosua's eyes flicked up from the page. "Generally, yes. Specifically, no. It's about grafting."

"Oh," she said and Akosua thought that would be the end of that, but then Felicia went on to say, "Do you enjoy gardening then?"

Akosua was beginning to feel distinctly uncomfortable – not that she hadn't felt so before, but now even more so. All these questions didn't settle well with her. She wondered how long she could interact with this well-heeled girl before she made a blunder. She could already feel herself slipping. "Not particularly." she said, quickly flashing one of her 'if-in-doubt-smiles' and shifted her eyes back down to the text.

"Ah, yes, I don't particularly either... Not that I've ever tried. All that dirt and fertilizer is rather off-putting, isn't it? I imagine it would get under your nails and smell and then there are bugs—" A little shiver ran through Felicia. "No. No, gardening is not for me. I do find the results pleasing though. My father hired the most amazing landscaper for our gardens. He specialises in rockeries and dabbles in water features so—"

To that day Akosua still found it astonishing how many sentences in Ouran began with either _my father_ or _my mother_.

"—I'm sure you can imagine how spectacular our grounds are. Perhaps you would like to see them sometime—"

Truly, truly astonishing.

 _Akosua!_ Another bottle came whizzing out of her subconscious – this one wasn't even empty. _Wine-princess just invited you to her house._

She jolted back to attention.

Gorou was right. When Akosua re-focused on the situation, she found that Felicia had not launched herself into a ramble about the majesty of her gilded mansion and the humbleness of only needing one thousand servants to tuck her into bed every night and was instead watching her in anticipation, seeming somewhat anxious about the length of time Akosua took to reply.

This was new. This was different. This was socialisation at its most extreme. Akosua had never been invited somewhere by one of her peers before and she was unsure of how to act, let alone react. So, in her uncertainty, Akosua gave the most evasive answer she could.

"Perhaps…"

"'Perhaps'?" Felicia listened to her reply with wide eyes – _uh-oh_ – then she jabbered, "Okay, right then, 'perhaps' "yes, lovely."

 _Perhaps_ (yes, _perhaps_ ) that answer had been a mistake. Felicia's response had been a certain giveaway to Akosua. Clearly she had made a social etiquette blunder of major proportions. She knew this was going to happen with prolonged exposure to the true upper crust. It had only been a matter of time. Maybe this situation was unsalvageable. News would spread of the uncouth, not quite-poor-and-no-longer-rich girl Akosua 'Lisa' Owusu and her terrible sense of decorum. But – _wait a minute_ – why did it even matter?

She didn't want this. She didn't want Ouran. Akosua wanted to drift away on a train, she wanted to see how awesomely large the world was compared to this blip of a high school, she wanted to be a vagabond extraordinaire. She had a chance to step out of the lie, the lie she had been spinning near unwittingly for a whole year. She knew how real the lie was now, now that she peered into the maw of veracity, and she could easily tear that lie down. It was loose, balancing on a ledge. If there were any moment to out herself to the world for what she really was then this was it. It would be easy, surely?

Best to do it now, lest she became further invested in her tall tale.

Yet the moment passed. Akosua let it pass.

How could she allow herself to think so lavishly? Not now. Now was not the time to let her mind runaway, because her physical form would not get very far despite what leaps her consciousness would take. This is where she was, this is the hand she had been dealt, this was the existence she needed to fulfil. She could dream, but this was her life. Ouran was her reality. And that isn't a problem, she told herself, because, after all, high school is only a blip.

An awkward silence fell over the two girls, Felicia blinking and wriggling like a confused puppy and Akosua going back to her book, burrowing herself in its pages so deep she was half-convinced she would never surface again.

Felicia, as the schmoozer supreme she had been raised to be, who could evidently forge conversation from almost any terrible social depths, valiantly pulled them out of the silence with a statement. A statement that may have been fine, manageable, but the topic of choice was the one thing Akosua had prayed would go unnoticed (or at least unmentioned) because she really wasn't sure how to explain.

"Your sunglasses..." Felicia said and Akosua felt herself freeze up. "They're, um, different. I don't think I've ever seen you in sunglasses. I suppose I wouldn't have anyway— I mean, uh, I— Is that the cake brochure Honey asked for?"

The conversational switch came so fast and so unexpected that Akosua's brain was still concocting an explanation for the glasses (and further details if Felicia should recognise their inferior make and lack of brand) a good ten seconds after the question had been posed. Akosua shook away thoughts of bogus laser eye treatment and a desire to have a greater understanding of the 'peasant-people' and directed her gaze to her satchel, where Felicia pointed. It was indeed the 'brochure' – a portfolio really. It was casually tucked into the bag, peeking out the top as an insidious reminder of her gargantuan lie.

 _You betray me, Portfolio_ , Akosua thought sourly.

She had only brought it in hoping to draw more (before homeroom preferably). Now Akosua was sure she would be delayed another night and although little homework came on the first day back at school, from this point onwards the work load would only ever increase. It was best to have the portfolio done as soon as possible, lest it take up anymore of her time.

Akosua hadn't even conceived the notion that someone may take notice and want to look. Worse, that person was Felicia. She was practically the commissioner of the portfolio (well, her and Honey). It was hardly professional to show her an incomplete product and would reflect badly on her father (yes, even though her father was essentially make-believe at this point she wanted to protect his pretend reputation as a celebrated pastry chef). Except, no, maybe it would not reflect badly on his reputation. If only Akosua could swing the idea of an incomplete portfolio to her advantage…

"Actually, it's not the brochure. It is something better. It is my father's newest designs in progress."

" _Oh!_ " Felicia exclaimed, "How interesting!"

"Yes, yes," she nodded sagely, "This is a very exclusive experience I'm offering you here. You are the only person besides my father and myself to see these. But they're not complete yet, so if I could just take that back…"

Akosua attempted to slip the portfolio from Felicia's hands, yet the girl held strong. "These are absolutely stunning." Felicia told her, enraptured.

At that Akosua felt a little bit hot around the cheeks. She wouldn't deny it, because that would reflect badly on her father, but mostly because she knew that they really were good. She had talent there, yet it was still the first time someone had seen her work (let alone complemented it).

"So, you see, when these designs are completed I can show them to Honey and he can pick one."

"How long until they are done?"

Now here was a conundrum. Initially, she had wanted this done and out the way with as soon as possible so she could continue on with her usual humdrum existence, however Akosua was coming to realise that past making a portfolio of cakes she had no real way of solving this situation. She couldn't bake – not in the slightest. How on earth was she going to be able to have a cake produced for Honey? And with this question circulating her mind, she realised she needed more time to find that elusive answer. She needed to work out a way to get Honey that cake.

"It should be some time yet unfortunately. My father is a busy man – currently out of the country you know – who only works on his designs in his spare time, which is something he does not have a lot of."

"That's a shame," Felica sighed, "but understandable. Well, perhaps you would grace us with your presence at the Host Club later anyway, to give Honey a status update and show him some designs."

 _Damn_ – and Akosua smiled tautly, "Of course" – _Damn it all_.

* * *

 _A/N: Well... Here's some stuff._

 _(And the French is probably, most definitely, wrong)_


End file.
